


Firehouse Restaurant Review

by wede_fic (frahulettaes)



Category: Real Person Fiction
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-05-08
Updated: 2009-05-08
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:27:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24078955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frahulettaes/pseuds/wede_fic
Summary: Morgan's Free Rangers: A Tale of Courage and Daring in the Tayasha BadlandsEaster Egg.Yet more world building. A clickable link from the story that gave depth and character to the world.https://fanlore.org/wiki/Morgan%27s_Free_Rangers





	Firehouse Restaurant Review

The Firehouse  
18 Calle Cehui  
Old Juarez Pass,  
U. of A. East Campus  
Hall of Historical Studies

Open first bell of Isha to an hour past last bell of Maghrib.

Cuisine: Tamtzin. 

Breakfast $  
Lunch $  
Dinner $$

The Old Firehouse.  
September 15th, 2010.  
By, Sara Ramirez, Old Juarez Signal.

I had the pleasure of dining recently at Cazque, Chef Smit’s lovely Aztlan Fusion bastion in Arrayo del Girasol with E and our guests Clay Murray Morgan and his husband, Jason Padalecki-Morgan on Chef Smit’s delicious goat short rib dolmas when the conversation turned to old school Aztlan cooking. Morgan mentioned missing those long, lovely brunches of cabritos and eggs and sweet spicy tomatillo salsa with hot, hand-made tortillas, and suddenly our perfectly prepared and immaculately served meal of tiny dolmas and pea shoots looked overwrought. The conversation inevitably turned to our favorite old school haunts, to which I added that the best Aztlan food I’d ever eaten was a) from a woman’s kitchen, and b) free. Sri Morgan laughed and shook his head over this saying if I’d never had breakfast at The Old Firehouse, then I clearly wasn’t a native. 

Suffice it to say, I felt as though I should turn in my residency card having never even heard of the place. So E and I made a date with Sri Morgan for the following Saturday to go forth and be educated upon the fine art of Eating Aztlan. 

We had a long conversation on whether we should brunch or dinner, Morgan adding emphatically that the eggs and cabritos where not to be missed, but in the end Sri. Morgan convinced us that dinner was just as good. So, upon that Saturday, E and I, dressed in our best post-student attire of jeans and woven tops, made our way down to U of A to meet with our culinary guide, Sri. Morgan, and begin our sojourn into the “Real” cuisine of the Aztlan.

After parking across campus and making our torturous way through its warren of halls and a narrow lane of London Houses, we made our way to number 18 Calle Cehui, a funky, winding alley behind the Hall of Historical studies, lined with small markets and jewelry stalls to the old adobe Firehouse, the last of eight firehouses left from Aztlan’s early days. 

My first impression of the Old Firehouse was one of pleasant dilapidation. The porches were made of ancient stripped cedar poles with large comfortable tables, each with a lazy susan at the center and filled with laughing and madly gesturing students. My second impression was olfactory. The aromas coming from those tables and wafting from the large open dining room, filled me with a mighty hunger. E clasped my hand, practically dragging me to the first available communal table. Sri. Morgan explained that small groups were encouraged to sit at the communal tables to facilitate connection because this establishment is all about family--blood or otherwise.

The main dining room of the Old Firehouse was a riot of colors, sounds and aromas. Owner Oded Fehr and family worked busily, like a hive of smiling bees, quietly and efficiently moving through the throng with grace and style. Sri. Fehr was the domina of the Coffee Bar which also houses a counter selling food to go for those too burdened with studies to stay and eat, and large glass containers filled with what I’m told are herbal and floral infused concoctions which had both E and I intrigued. 

Fehr met us at our table and greeted Sri. Morgan with a warm hug and a gentle kiss and Salaam to each cheek. It was quite clear he was well known and loved here. We were told that menus weren’t necessary and he bundled off to the pass with a smile and a wave. Moments later our table groaned with dishes and drinks and this, I’m told by Sri. Morgan, was just the start. 

Starters were a mix of dishes, lentils in a pungent and slightly sweet preparation with cinnamon and cumin, and a surprise of figs and sweet onions, and a dish of delicate green tomatoes which I’m told are grown by the family in their own gardens just north of Tioga, in the Tayasha’s rich wine country, served with avocado oil and parsley, and a small but aromatic pile of tiny mesquite pita breads, soft and fragrant. Hot and sweet dips included a bright green tomatillo salsa and something dark made with purple tomatoes and chilis that made me blink back tears but had a floral aroma I had never had the pleasure of experiencing. Sweet and hot as the Aztlan desert but worth the price of admission right there. 

Drinks were a mix. E chose a chilled mint and popotillo concoction with agave and orange blossoms; while I chose an iced coffee, light and clear and so fine I could nearly see through it, infused with something floral and topped with a small cluster of leaves of baby basil. Sri. Morgan went for local flavor, a simple pot of popotillo tea, a school era favorite. 

Conversation drifted as the pile of pita quickly disappeared and just when I began to despair over the last one, which I gallantly surrendered to E, Fehr returned with Sri. Fehr in tow and more than a few children, all laden with steaming dishes. Our plates where magically cleared away and new ones set around while Sri. Fehr set dish after dish down in front of us, a dizzying array of plates and pots and tiny dishes with vividly colored sauces. Fehr and family stood and spoke the prayers with us, Sri. Morgan joining in and then it was time to eat.

Hot goat cabritas, so tender and rich in a tomato and herb sauce, that I momentarily lost my ability to speak. Thick braised Bishee baked in a beautiful blue calabash, and a side dish of hominy prepared with wild onions, avocado oil and garlic. This dish was a smooth and perfect compliment to the cabritas. Couscous of corn prepared with parsley, bright yellow and green tomatos and olives, and a traditional dish of lamb sausage with hominy. All of this was accompanied by two covered clay dishes filled with hot mesquite tortillas straight from Grand Sri. Fehrs griddle. After seventy five years, she’s still the only one to make these delectable little circles of heaven. 

E and I changed up our drinks, she to the rose-infused tea and I to the lime and basil, while Sri. Morgan kept to his simple pot of tea. I was beginning to see the wisdom of this as my stomach began to complain of fullness. E and I didn’t miss our traditional glass of Black Spanish with dinner and it was no surprise. The old Firehouse seems to be a refuge for students and families alike and xara is closely, though not strictly, adhered to. The Fehrs follow the old ways, which was clear by the happy atmosphere both on the dining floor and in the kitchen. 

As we wound down, dishes were cleared, replaced with hot, rich cups of coffee laced with cinnamon and chocolate. Tiny pastries of mesquite and almonds appeared along with fresh fruits and then a fragrant baked calabash filled with apples, nuts and figs was sat before us. The pastries were nutty and rich, the fruit sweet and refreshing, again from the family compound and the baked calabash was a meal in itself. The apples were tart, the local favorite Gravenstein, and the figs lent a sweetness that balanced the tartness perfectly. 

After the last of our meal had been cleared, Fehr and Sri. Fehr joined us with small bronze pots filled with more coffee and we passed a pleasant hour talking about food in Aztlan from the people’s perspective. I have to say, I have seldom enjoyed a meal as much. The food was simply but passionately prepared, the atmosphere warm and inviting, and the time passed too quickly.

The Aztlan would be a poorer place without the Old Firehouse. Fehr and his family have shown me that tradition is alive and thriving in the region, deliciously and with infinite grace. 

Special thanks to Sri Jason Padalecki-Morgan.


End file.
